Part 1: Chapter 14: But Still the Sunken Stars Appear

"Of course it is." He laughed. How warm. How utterly priceless. He looked into her eyes, wishing he could hold her there. "Of course your name means gold."

She looked away, as if her eyes betrayed her, but from what? And then she began to fidget, working the hand with the ring into her robe pocket, as if she would hide it. Why hide it, after sharing? Have I done something wrong?

But he would not ask that. He only waited, postponing what he knew was next.

"Oh!" she cried, pulling his hanky out of the pocket her hand had tried hiding in. "I meant to give this to you before, and well…" She scowled at it. "I'm sorry… I should have taken better care of it."

Careful not to touch her hand, he quickly accepted the handkerchief, still warm from contact to her body. He imagined it pressed against the hidden folds of her pocket, so near–– It was time to go. "It is fine. It has seen far worse, believe me."

"Even so… " she mumbled a word he could not make out.

He looked to her, touched by her voice, a foreign lilt to it. "Pardon?"

"Thun'yuh Vod," she repeated, or at least that's what he thought she said. Her foot traced the landing; he saw it in his periphery, the delicate arch curved in his direction, and he recalled the feel of her skin… no, what he imagined––that was a dream.

"Thun'yuh Vod," he said after her, slowly, exaggerating the sounds.

Âkmînruk zu. Thank you. She now taught him to say this in Hindi…

"Perfect!" Her eyes were fixed on his lips.

On my lips? Do you know I want to kiss yours? Mahal! Rid me this tiresome wishful thinking! He sucked in air, convincing himself she was just watching him speak.

"I suspect you have a gift for languages."

"A gift?" You think this after my blunder tonight? No… "I have no gift." He failed every time he tried to speak with her… It is best when he said nothing... or asked about … what he hoped were safe topics.

"Who did the embroidery on your handkerchief?"

Did she really want to know? A spark of thrill warmed him. Could not hurt to tell: "Fíli and Kíli's mother. She packs it with provisions whenever I travel, to carry a part of her with me, as she says…" He laughed, folding it slowly, seeing his Sister's face, remembering her smile when he unwrapped it the first time, how proud she was of the stitching; so meticulous, and embroidery was not her favored craft. She'd laughed later, telling how she had formidable instruction from Dori on the various stiches, with the warning she best do well so as not to shame her teacher. "She embroidered it long ago, a Durin's Day gift."

"What's Durin's––"

"Of course I was going to tell you." It was Tharkûn. His voice cut in from below them a short distance away, stopping their conversation like a cold front seeping into the fragile warmth of an early spring; what had she wanted to know?

"I was waiting for this very chance." The Wizard walked with Lord Elrond on a lower crossing of the gardens. "And really, I think you could trust that I know what I am doing."

"Do you?" Lord Elrond asked, or rather demanded. "That Dragon has slept for sixty years."

Thorin glared at the Elf. And you speak now because Smaug sleeps? Elves paid no mind when he blew fire through the lives of Men and Dwarves, laying waste, leaving us homeless, wandering…

Better to look at the Thief. From the side Thorin saw her smile about the Dragon? But then her eyes went big and her mouth opened, the one he wanted to kiss––

Stop it! Just then his heart took a jolt, seeing the fear bloom in her eyes. But he wondered, hadn't she read about Smaug in her 'books'? If then, why this sudden surprise? Was this something she'd forgotten?

"What will happen if your plan should fail?" Lord Elrond continued, speaking as though he knew for certain they would. "If you wake that Beast…" His warning could be felt as the slightest vibration filling the air of the valley. Was he throwing his voice? What were these powers of Elves?

"But if we succeed," Tharkûn argued, un-swayed by any warning. "If the Dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the East will be strengthened!"

Aye, because Tharkûn feared something beyond the measure of their Quest, something relating to the matter of Dol Guldur, and the Necromancer. Thorin recalled the rumors Nori and Dwalin had brought back from recent travels through Rohan, in addition to words from travelers on the borders of Fangorn… There was a magician casting dark spells in the south of the Greenwood, now Mirkwood…

"It is a dangerous move, Gandalf."

The Thief followed them with her eyes as they moved down the path, to the point of leaning her body well over the ledge, toward the ones she thought could save her. He saw hope in her strong posture, in the longing sureness of her gaze toward them. And they couldn't even agree, these two she thought so wise and powerful. A twinge of sadness curled through him, that she no longer asked him for help, not once since that second night they met, where he had knocked her over.

"It is also dangerous to do nothing or the cut the throne of Erebor."

My Kingdom. 'Adad'ē. The Home of our People.

"It is Thorin's birthright. What is it you fear?" The Wizard almost pleaded the question, clearly frustrated by his momentary lack of power.

Thorin's heart raced now, because, blast the mineshaft, this had wandered into the personal, and he didn't know where this conversation could lead, but it couldn't be good with Lord Elrond there, naysaying everything...

His gaze strayed back to the Thief as she nodded adamantly in agreement to Tharkûn, staring with bright eyes at the Wizard. Thorin felt and inexplicable elation he was certain was founded on sand.

"Have you forgotten?" Lord Elrond nearly spat the barb. "A strain of madness runs deep in that family."

Thorin couldn't breathe, he stood transfixed, somehow stunned Lord Elrond would mention that. But then again, why would he not? But then her face… her face: disapproval skid over her features in the direction of the Elf. She made no move to look Thorin's way, and in this moment he was glad for it.

"His Grandfather lost his mind; his Father succumbed to the same sickness."

Just like an Elf. Thráin is lost, and you––you would speak of him poorly, for all to hear. And I had begun to think–– "Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield––"

Why does he use my Honor name, when clearly he ascribes it no meaning? There was nothing solid from which to blunt the blow…no weapon he could smash against.

"…will not also fall?"

––will not also fall.

Will. Not. Also. Fall.

I will fall.

I am no better than Thrór, far less; Thrór was great, and strong, and wise, and Thrór built kingdoms… And Thráin, he had ruled with dignity and strength, until…

"Gandalf, these decisions do not rest with us alone." And now the Elf was beseeching in his tone.

Thorin recalled the White One he'd seen before, and wondered where he waited, vaguely reminded of the Wizard's cold stare boring into his numb heart. Surely he had an opinion.

And where was his 'Adad, and how could he have abandoned his search? Tharkûn. He had felt hope in the Wizard's persuasive words back at Bree. But is all in vain, forecast to fail… because even if he should succeed, eventually he would go mad with this sickness, and all would be lost in the end.

Sona––

Gold.

––The Thief had heard all that. All true… what was the use of his feeling?

"It is not up to you or me to redraw the map of Middle-earth…" Lord Elrond continued as they moved on.

Looking from her, he let his gaze fall to the back of the Elf Lord disappearing from sight behind the trailing bushes. Leave it to Elves to think so; Elves leave everything to chance. Elves do nothing in the face of evil.

Time to leave. He had already backed off from the ledge. The part of him that could feel only ached and burned, but this was enough. Departure was long overdue.

The Thief's face still followed where the others had gone. He dared not think what she thought; it was a waste––

And then she shifted, leaning back from the ledge, and he thought she might turn.

That he could not face, so he willed his feet to move, eyes unsure of the way with an added haze about them vying for release. What did it matter, beyond his foolish dreams? She did not care for him overly, beyond cordial affection, and here he was–– why wouldn't his feet move? He found his nerve and began to quietly exit.

"My mother's bi-polar."

Bi-polar? What? He stopped, still leaning toward his path away.

"So's my sister."

Sister is…? What had she said? She looked out over the gardens, not at him, but he could see her head tilted, listening for his step as though she hoped to catch something. What could she possibly want with him? But she spoke of her family. There must be a reason she brought them up now? Perhaps something to do with what she just heard–– but that, no, he didn't want to think of it. Through the ache in his heart, he wanted to hear what she would say of her family.

She grasped the banister. Was she looking for grounding? He took a step back toward her, moved, unsure.

"It's a type of mental disorder."

Mental––

"Often hereditary. But not always."

He could see her spine tense, and he recognized the reluctance buried within her words. What was she trying to say? His Grandfather. His Father. Himself. It stilled him though the ache felt worse, because he knew this, and he could never speak it aloud.

"I grew up wondering if I would be too."

Her shoulder turned up and he––

"Sometimes I still wonder."

Ah Thief––

––Sona, nothing could mar your shine. The breeze caught her hair and lifted strands in the air about her, lavender and warmth, a gold flame in the night.

"And the thing is, having a mental disorder doesn't make people bad or weak… they're just ill."

And this is different how? He wondered this now, with Lord Elrond's words still sounding echoes in his mind, fully aware the world held them weak for their failing.

"And, in many cases, like with my Mom and Sister, they can take a medication for it."

Medication…? He wished she would explain it, even if he didn't understand, feeling comfort in the sounding of her voice near him, filling the air with her calm.

He took the space beside her, full of hesitation in his gut. What was he still doing here?

"If you break a leg, wouldn't you put a cast on it?"

A cast? Óin would see it set and secured in splints while it healed…

"Mental illness is no different."

Madness. There is no bone to set, nothing to secure… how then?

And… he wondered… was this her way to let him know he was not alone?

"Do I hope I'll escape their fate?"

Escape fate? Who can escape fate?

He couldn't help it; he looked at her sidelong. Surely she would escape.

"Well, yeah. Of course I do. I'm only human."

Asti–– Her lip, she chewed it again, all worked up with worry…

And then she was looking at him sidelong and all he wanted was to sink in that gaze. She was open, there were glints of recognition mingled with hope, understanding, determination... Thorin breathed out, marginally relaxed, unsure why.

"I refuse to let the fear of what may happen… what could happen… control me, my decisions, or stop me from making plans for the future."

Of course you do. But why tell me this? I cannot ask it––

You wish to excuse how I feel? By your sweet grace? If only. This is horrid, this fear–– He mustered his voice from the depths of his aching, longing to touch her in a sacred space. "Thun'yuh'vod."

She moved closer, filling the gap.

And Thorin was moved by her care, her acceptance, and this seemingly unflinching good judgment of him, how had he deserved it?

And for a while it was as if they hung there, waiting for the next breath. No one said anything. But then… Her hand… Oh Mahal, she brought it flush to his. She was touching him of her own volition, and it felt like a key note chiming clear to his soul.

He froze there. His mind actually could not think, staring at their touching skin.

And next thing he knew, she wound her small finger, the one with the gold ring, 'Sona', over his own. All he could do was gape now at those hands, Sona's and his, linked by small fingers, feeling the heat there, feeling it spread. What did she mean by this?

They stood and he waited, and no answer came, so he sank into the feeling, accepting it, resting in it, Mahal willing he would never forget it.

"Lady Sona, there is someone who would speak with you."

The Thief and Thorin shifted toward each other, Thorin's ire lit by someone having snuck upon him unawares. Her hand was gone. With a heart full of racing, Thorin quietly removed his own from the banister. He set his stone face and turned toward the intruder, the pinch-faced Lindir shuffling uncomfortably before them. Why now? There was nothing so cold as an unwanted Elf.

The Thief remained startled, looking as though they had been caught swimming naked in the fountains. Thorin would have laughed if it had not hurt so much, the simple loss of her finger touching his. His thumb traced the memory of it.

"I'm sorry, who did you say wanted to speak with me?"

The Elf never said… as per usual. Elves.

This one looked guilty, as well he was... He awkwardly shuffled and stood, all twitching, and Thorin was through.

"Is it Lord Elrond?" Sona asked, frustration clipping her words. "Because he's been avoiding me for days, and I really need to talk to him about my, uh, travel issue."

Will they help you? Can they? Again that pang moved Thorin––I would, if only–– but it was useless.

I wish you well, Gold Song. The night was over. May you find your way home.

Thorin was down the path, decided. There was no more time to waste among Elves.

/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\

A/N: The Hindi script on Sona's ring: सोना